


Five Minutes ‘Til Self Destruct

by bravechicken



Category: TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Mike, Doctor Donatello (TMNT), Donatello and Leonardo (TMNT) are Twins, Gen, Hurt Michelangelo (TMNT), Leo has emotions, Michelangelo (TMNT)-centric, Older Sibling Leonardo (TMNT), Pretty sure splinter is dead, Protective Donatello (TMNT), Protective Raphael, Sick Fic, Sick!Mikey, Splinter Is Dead, doctor don, donatello drinks a lot of coffee, overprotective donatello, overprotective leo, overprotective raph, raph says sammich, sick!michelangelo, sorry i just dont see use for him sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-09-27 04:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravechicken/pseuds/bravechicken
Summary: Even the mightiest of ninja cannot always avoid illness. In Mikey's case, it's the one thing he's never quite been able to dodge. But when a simple cold leaves the family's youngest without a voice, misadventures quickly turn into discoveries as the family bands together. Let the sick days begin. ( Stealthy Stories Nominee )





	1. Chapter 1

Latex, hypoallergenic cleaners, and sterilized wood. That is the definition of the ever-famous doctor smell. I hate doctor smell. Not that I've ever smelled an actual doctor room, before, but, Donny pretty much has that covered. I mean, ever since-

"Mike, open your mouth for me, 'kay?"

Mikey heaved a particularly dramatic sigh while finally opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out in the process. Being sick always caused Michelangelo to somewhat 'regress' back into his terrible twos leaving the three brothers to make a valiant effort to care for the conniving and discourteous, hyperactive turtle. That very quality coupled with Donatello's sudden change in demeanor often made for an interesting time of sickness. It's as if the instance one of the turtles became sick caused the usually benign Donatello to transform into the strict and relentless 'Doctor Don'. The results, of which, were often far more comical than they probably should have been.

After a couple seconds for Don to look around, he finally spoke,"Well, it doesn't seem to be getting any better." With a pointed glare straight at Michelangelo, the purple-clad turtle continued, "In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Mike, you do realize that if you keep this up your cold can easily turn into something much more serious." Thinking it best to allow his comment to simmer within the younger turtle's head, Donatello silently walked to the other side of the room to retrieve some medicine.

Mike fidgeted a bit in Don's "thinking chair", his thoughts wandering to his current state. It's not my fault I'm perpetually sick. So maybe I pushed myself harder than I knew I should have. Dang. This feels a shelluva lot like when I last had bronchitis. Dumb genetic deficiencies.

From the other side of the room Don gave a barely audible "ah-hah!" as he finally found the medicines he was looking for beginning the short trek back to the now shrinking turtle. Of all the brothers, Mike was ill most frequently. Considering that they're giant coldblooded turtles living in the damp and drafty sewers of the not exactly clean and shiny Big Apple, the three older turtles had nearly rock hard immune systems. This could be shown in the factual knowledge that each turtle only managed to get a slight cold once every two or three years. Mikey, on the other hand, found himself to be sick once every two to three months, give or take. Not to mention, unlike the predictable and usually mellow cases of the common cold the three eldest turtles hardly ever found themselves with, Mikey's illnesses often varied. It was always a guessing game as to what type of illness Mike would find himself with along with how severe. So it was safe to say that, of all the turtles, Mikey lost the 'healthy genes' bet.

Donatello had often searched for an explanation to such a phenomenon. Of course, as the Hamato luck would have it, the variables were few and far between. All four of them were raised together and in the same manner. It was as simple as Michelangelo simply being born that way. After all, even as a young child, Mikey still had the same problem. Though he was used to it, all three turtles understood Michelangelo's frustration with his health. Don wanted nothing more than to find a cure. Yet as each sickness would come and go, Don was left with the same somber explanation and no real way to cure it. After all, how can you cure something you don't have any control over? So, as always, he set off to fix the symptoms.

"Okay, Mikey, I want you to take these after you eat a light meal, and I mean a piece of toast and maybe a small amount of soup, got it? And this time, actually rest afterwards. I mean eyes closed. No comics, no video games, no horror movie to keep you up when you need to sleep this off. Take it easy. Am I clear?" Donatello said, his voice full of authority.

Having heard (and dutifully disobeyed) this order many times in his life, Mike began to open his mouth in protest only for Don to send an irritated glare his way eliciting a small wince from the suddenly guilty turtle.

Mike's flinch didn't go unnoticed as Donny's face melted from doctor to brother in the blink of an eye.

Squatting down to Mike's level, Don reached out a three-fingered hand and placed it atop Mike's shoulder in a familiar and comforting gesture. "I'm just worried, Mike. You know that. I just want you to get better-"

"Each time it's something different, blah blah. I know Don, no worries." This time it was Don's turn to wince at how harsh Mike's voice had gotten simply within the last five minutes of his latest 'checkup', "Guess I'm just tired is all, but I did hear you mention a meal, so I'll just go do that."

"Somethings just never change, do they?" Don laughed.

"Hey, I can't keep you on your toes all the time, Donny." Mike replied with a smile, " 'Sides, I might be a little under the weather, but a turtle has a stomach, right?"

"Right." Don said rolling his eyes. And, with that, Mike ran out the door and into the kitchen.

Just as his latest experiment began to reel in the crafty turtle, a small disturbance brought him back to reality. With an agitated huff, Donatello grabbed the abandoned pills from his desk.

"Why that little troll." Don fumed storming out of the lab only to come in abrupt contact with Leonardo, a startled 'oomph' resonating from both turtles.

"Oh, sorry Leo, didn't see you there..." Donny mumbled sheepishly.

"Is everything okay, Don?" Leo asked pointing towards the pills clenched in Don's hand. Confused, Don looked down to his hand. Hamato Leonardo, the reason 'Eye-Spy' was a rare occurrence within their household with his keen sonar for even the smallest of details. Realizing what Leo thought, he quickly replied, "These? Mike's. It seems forgetfulness is a reoccurring symptom throughout his illnesses."

Leo let out a small chuckle in a vain attempt to hide his pulsating worry despite the opacity of his emotions outside of battle, "He never has been a very good patient. Or listener, for that matter."

"No, he's a good listener. It's just selective hearing."

"A valid argument, I'd say. How is he holding up? Despite being- " Leo asked gesturing toward the pills once again, this time searching for the right words "...mischievous as ever."

With an exasperated sigh, Donatello began to recount his little brother's symptoms, "Slight fever, sore throat, mild shortness of breath, aches, and a small headache. If he doesn't rest soon, his temperature is sure to spike and which will likely cause for worse problems. Which reminds me." the intellectual turtle raised his arm allowing the pills to rattle inside his fist.

"I see. Anything I can do to help?" The blue-clad ninja replied, feeling suddenly uneasy about the state of Mike's health.

"Not right now." Donatello called over his shoulder as he walked off towards the kitchen once again, silently praying his brother actually heeded his earlier reminder to have a light meal.

The sight Don saw upon entering the kitchen was enough to freeze him in place, his brain struggling to process the reality before his eyes. Mikey- the Michelangelo- the surprisingly devious terrapin was, in fact, following Donatello's instruction. A quick glance down re-calibrated his brain into a functioning state as he was reminded of his purpose for a second time.

"Ah. You doing that to make up for what you, ahem, left in my lab, hmm?" Donny said as Michelangelo looked up at him sheepishly. Of course, seventeen years of dealing with Mike's frequent illnesses set off warning bells throughout his brain. Often when Mikey is found being obedient amidst any of his sicknesses its due to a lack of energy for his normal belligerence.

Mikey's lack of verbal response finally turned Donny's to his full doctor mode. Walking over to where the orange-loving terrapin sat at the table, Don reached out to touch his head. "Go lay down on the couch, I'll be right there." Mike merely nodded and stumbled over towards the couch as directed, being too miserable not to comply.

Within the short two-minute trek from his lab and back, Donatello arrived to find a slumbering Michelangelo. Normally, Don would have covered him up, leaving the water and pills next to him to take whenever consciousness returned to the small turtle. However, it was apparent that what had originally appeared to be the common cold was progressing far too quickly for Donatello's comfort.

"Mikey, can you wake up for a minute?" Donny said just loud enough for him to stir. "Come on, Mike, just for a second, okay?"

Irritated with his brother's lack of cooperation, Don popped the thermometer into Mike's mouth with the true bedside manner of a caring brother. Michelangelo, for his part, opened a single eye before renewing his efforts to catch his much deserved siesta.

"Man, Mike, you don't look so good..." Don thought out loud. Finally grabbing the thermometer from his mouth, Don glanced at it, a troubled look upon his face.


	2. Chapter 2

A surge of adrenaline pulsed through Donatello's body as he took in the situation. Michelangelo's temperature was climbing far too quickly.

He swore under his breath the longer he stared at the thermometer. One of the hardest parts of being a mutant was the tricky balance of human and turtle which created their unique genetic makeup. The odd balance allowed them the ability to develop fevers in a similar manner to humans yet the terrapin DNA caused for them to remain coldblooded. The results of which require great care whenever one is fevered because any sudden fluctuation of temperature could put our bodies into mild shock.

Don had to lower Mike's temperature by any means possible.

"Mikey, Mike. Wake up." Don said, shaking him as gently as possible with the panic bubbling inside, "Michelangelo. Now."

"Mmm..Don...Ouch." Mike choked out. The entire mumble was just above a whisper and even then the rasp of his voice was nearly palpable. With the way Mike sounded, the small utterance was painful enough.

"Good Mikey. I need you to sit up." The resulting expression said it all, but was dutifully ignored as Don practically lifted Mike into a sitting position, the movement provoking an alarmingly heavy cough. A feeling of uselessness washed over Donatello as he watched the painful coughs wrack his littlest brother's thin frame. Quietly cheering on his younger brother, Donatello rubbed soothing circles on Mike's shell until the coughs subsided leaving a softly panting turtle with his eyes clenched shut.

"Don..."

"Shh, Mike, you have a high fever. Shower time, bro." Don stated rather than asked. He knew a cold shower would be uncomfortable to say the least, but, he had no other option. Mike's temperature was simply too high and though Michelangelo was renowned for his iron stomach, Don knew fevers could care less. Letting this get out of control would easily result in the nunchuku wielder's own upchucks and Mike was already sick enough.

A small whimper escaped Mikey has he reluctantly nodded his head.

"Okay, on the count of three." With a redundant countdown, Don helped Mike to his feet.

Despite carrying most of Mikey's weight, Don had no issue hefting the shorter turtle up and helping him to the bathroom. After all, Michelangelo had always been the shortest and leanest of the four. They often chalked it up the drastic height-difference to a mixture of genetics and a sort of stunted growth due to his constant illness and its resulting weight-loss. Try as he might, Mike could never gain the weight and muscle-mass of his other three brothers. He was close, yes, but just as he would begin to gain weight and begin to bulk up some form, Michelangelo's insane metabolism would strike. He was both blessed and cursed with a black-hole for a stomach. He might be the smallest turtle but he could easily out-eat all of his brothers combined. Even Casey Jones wouldn't enter into an eating contest with Mikey. His resulting leanness allowed for Mike to be the runner and swimmer of the family and his shorter height and leaner muscle also allowed for him to be the most acrobatic on top of his uncanny speed.

Though given the familiarity of this situation right now, Don decided lucky wasn't the term of choice.

Mike never liked being out for the count. Sure, he would milk nearly all of his injuries or illnesses, but only _after_ the worst was over. It was common knowledge that when Mikey got sick his mischief meter nearly doubled and the likelihood of him following directions was slim to none. It was with this thorough knowledge of his younger brother that Donatello entered the bathroom. He was ready for frustration and various difficulties to arise, so to say Don was surprised when Mikey simply plopped down onto the shower floor without so much as a plea for help or poor joke about animal abuse.

Taking the change in stride, Don immediately started up the water before Mike could finish plotting for his escape.

The startled gasp sent a twinge of guilt towards the most intellectual turtle as the cool water showered atop of his brother's prone form.

"Sorry Mike." Don said kicking himself for not providing a heads up.

Mike merely nodded with indignant resolve.

"Just ten minutes, alright, Mike?" Don said, trying his best to provide a silver lining.

Again, Mike only nodded with his gaze still shifted downward. After a beat and a half of tense silence Don asked, "So, how are you feeling?"

Mikey seemed to contemplate it for a while, scrunching up his beak in the near comical way he always did when he was evaluating something carefully. "I've been better... but I've also been worse." He replied just above a whisper. Don couldn't help but cringe at how bad his voice had gotten and based on how he tried to clear his throat, it hadn't escaped Mikey either. Unfortunately for him, that only served to agitate it worse along with start up a whole new coughing fit and for the second time in the past five minutes, Donatello found himself rubbing his younger brother's shell willing his coughing to subside.

The bad news was, it took a lot longer for his coughing to calm down this time.

"Guess I won't be making any big speeches any time soon." he said sounding like a chain smoker after a ten mile run in the mountains.

"That's probably for the best." Don replied, giving him a gentle nudge on his arm. After waiting a second or two to catch his breath Don asked, "So, other than a wicked cough, what sounds like a very sore throat, and the obvious high temperature, got any new symptoms?"

Mike took a deep breath, wincing when it hitched and replied, "Well...I can honestly say... I'm far from hungry," he grinned, then swallowed, "bit hard to catch my breath, though." He rasped. Don nodded but kept silent, unsure as to whether he was through or not. After a couple seconds Mike continued, "Aches...everywhere...Bit woozy...m'tired, Don." He finished, the two brothers holding the other's gaze, Mike's his cerulean eyes thick with the tell tale glossiness further detailing how he truly wasn't one hundred percent.

Offering a sympathetic smile, Don filed away Mike's symptoms for later analysis, "Well, looks like your time is almost up. Got about a minute to go." Mike just gave a pitiful thumbs up, not even bothering to suppress his yawn only for him to wince and rub his throat for doing so.

By the end of the shower, Mike was a shivering mess. With a silent curse for being such a sap, Don wrapped his shaking brother up in towels and half carried him to his room passing Raph on the way. One look was all it took and he changed his trajectory immediately following the two into Mikey's room.

The minute Mike's head hit the pillow, he was out. Walking over to the doorway, Don greeted Raph with an amused smirk. Raph was always leery of illnesses. It was a secretly debated topic amongst the brothers. They never could decide whether it was because he was mildly germaphobic and didn't want to contract said illness or if it was just his whole tough turtle act or even rather unfortunate events in the past, but either way it had started to become expected in most situations. He would simply stand watch from afar. A unique way of showing he cares. Try as he might, Raph's heart is just too large to hide.

"What is it this time?" He grunted.

"I'm not really sure. Right now it just sounds like a bad case of strep or something. Nothing life threatening." Raphael's miffed gaze bore into Don's expressionless one. A sure sign that Raph was worried. Donatello had lived with the temperamental turtle long enough to not take it personally, it was just something Raph did. Sort of a habit that was just too Raph to break.

"Want me ta keep an eye on 'im?"

Don took a moment to contemplate, his mind quickly bunny-trailing as it so often does. _Just how serious could this get? I have a sinking feeling it would be an interesting next couple of days. Whenever Mike gets sick, it always is. But a watch, though it would decrease how many escape attempts and other evil Mikey plots that could potentially pop up, well._ No, he decided, _a watch would be a tad bit much._

"Nah, I'll just check on him about every hour or so. I set a trashcan next to his bed, so he should be fine."

Raph grinned, "As long as I'm not on the vomit squad, I'm good."

Don made a face, both at the horrible name and the opportunity to clean up puke. "Raph, that sounded a bit too much like Mikey for comfort."

"Eh? I'm gonna go make a sammich"

"Sandwhich." The brainy turtle compulsively corrected.

"No, sammich. Sandwhich is for the feint of heart." He retorted walking away. Donatello just sighed rolling of his eyes as he walked off. _Pick your battles, Don. Pick your battles._

* * *

I woke up with the same dry itch in my throat, trying for the life of me to at least _slightly_ avoid the burning cough working it's way though my chest all the way up to the top of my head. My thoughts began to drift and with that, I failed as it once again racked my whole body with its stupid, thunderous roar. It had been a miserable two days. That's right, ladies and gents. Two whole days of nothing but coughing and sleeping and nearly suffocating via my own coughing. After about a minute of straight, uncontrollable lung removal, I grabbed the water sitting next to my bed trying my best to swallow down the precious organ I just nearly coughed up.

Well, the good news is I have my appetite back. The bad news? I nearly die choking on it each time because my throat is too dang sore. Not to mention how I'm forced to be on bed rest for at least one more day so I don't _"make things worse than they already are"_ because I need to _"get healthy as soon as possible."_ Call me crazy, but I don't think losing your sanity to boredom is a good kind of ' _getting well',_ strategically speaking that is. However, a good sammich is where it's at. And besides, not being able to move makes me cranky, and I've been told I'm no party when I'm cranky. So really, I should escape my bed. It's for the safety of the family as a whole.

With a new found determination, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, blinking away the dots that flooded my vision and ignoring how the dot to the right had an uncanny similarity to Abraham Lincoln. I was sure to grab a comic book to read as I side stepped towards my door ignoring the bongo player making my head throb. Then, as quietly as possible, I turned the nob to the right waiting 'til it couldn't turn anymore then froze and waited. With baited breath I continued to freeze until I was sure no alarms would sound. _Of course Don didn't set an alarm there! That would be ridiculous! A good little patient like me..._ I opened the door just a crack and peered out into the lair. _No one to be seen left, right, directly downstairs... looks like the coast is- wait! Ceiling...?_ I slowly turned my eyes skyward only to feel like an idiot when nothing was there. _Heh. Guess I really shouldn't watch those horror movies. A fine example of the two-timing power my imagination holds right there. Though I wouldn't put it past Leo to pull a Spidey on any three of us._

After managing to tip toe to the kitchen without passing out I figured I deserved a real monster of a sammich. I was just placing the potato chips on top of the ham when I heard my three bros as they exited the dojo, their afternoon zen session all complete. Of course, at this moment it's only a matter of time until Don goes to check up on me. Leo will probably stay in the dojo a couple extra minutes- until Don warns him of my escape, of course. Raph will be entering the kitchen after using the bathroom- the tiny tank. So I'd say I have about... _three...two..._

 _"_ Mikey!"

I blew out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, my eyes darting all around me. _Where can I hide?_ I nearly jumped out of my shell when I turned around to see Raph standing there, arms folded as he leaned against the wall smirking with his annoying cocky grin. "Gonna rat me out, Raphie boy?" I asked, though admittedly, with the way my voice was sounding lately, it was like a fifth grader playing the recorder for the first time.

There was a second or two of sheer silence where I foolishly thought that maybe- _maybe-_ he was gonna be a good older brother and help me taste freedom for the first time in days. And then he smirked. Now, much like the many different 'looks' Leo gives, each smirk has a meaning. This was his payback smirk. We've been acquainted far too many times. It's not _my_ fault the turtle can't take a little prank. You'd think a tough guy like him could handle a small butterfly in his room. A small, pregnant butterfly. With some friends. Or five. But, _still._

I watched in horror as he opened his mouth and pulled out my last trick, the puppy dog eyes. Works like a charm on Leo, even without the lip, Don takes a while longer but always breaks eventually. Raph, on the other hand, doesn't fall for it as easily, but he's still not immune. I put everything I could into it this time and (with the help of being sickly) even managed to put a pitiful whimper in for good measure. Guess his heart-much like his skull- really is made of stone, because his smirk only grew larger, and more dangerous as if fueled by my desperate pleas. I couldn't believe it. My own partner in crime- _selling me out?_

"Leo! Don! He's in the kitchen!"

I guess the shock on my face did a better job than the puppy dog eyes because next thing I heard was Raph... _apologizing?_

 _"_ Mike, m'sorry bro, but I draw the line at bugs."

Not an apology- salt in the wound. He's _gloating_. _Shell. The wrath of Leo awaits._ It must have been record time because before I knew it, I was hearing the roaring that is a lecture in my general direction.

"Michelangelo! What are you doing?"

"Well... uh, ya see...y'know, to get the whole 60 minutes of exercise a day and all... I-" and just like that the coughing started up once again. _Shell, its hard to breathe right now._ The coughing continued to the point I couldn't even think, my throat felt like it was literally on fire and scraped raw from the tires of the firetrucks come to follow. Oh, and Abe was back and he brought his good friend, a Mr. Chuck Norris. _That doesn't even make sense!_

Before I could even process it, I was being ushered over to an empty seat in the kitchen. After what felt like far too long of a span to be normal, the pain seemed to die down a bit, finally allowing my other senses to rejoin the party as I listened to my brothers discuss me in front of me. _If you'd ever like to feel entirely invisible..._

"Is that normal Don?"

"Raph, get him a glass of water."

"Calm down, Mikey. Deep breathes..."

I had almost caught my breath when I felt something cool placed in my hand. W _ater-I will never forsake thee again!_ Just as I started to down the whole glass, I felt a tug on my hand and looked over to see Donny placing his hand on the glass. "Don't chug it, Mikey. Slow and steady."

That's about when _it_ happened. My commentary is something to be expected at this point. Before continuing my liquid indulgence, I merely tried to make a small remark. My lips moved. I know they moved. And I couldn't have coughed so hard I forgot to speak. I' was the first of us to talk and I doubt I'd forget anytime soon or ever, for that matter. Maybe it was just muffled by the glass or maybe my throat was drier than I thought. _Yeah, Mike, that''s it._ With my heart's beat quickly climbing, I finished the glass at about one fourth of the speed I wanted to and twice the speed Donny preferred, if the look he gave me is anything to go by.

"Feel better, Mike?" Don asked as he removed the glass from my hand. _Deep breathe, Mikester. Now answer the nice turtle._

And I swear I did. Or, I tried.

 _Nothing. No sound. Lips moving? Yes. No sound? Simple solution: Speak louder._ Hear that? It's Air. _Just... just air._

By this point I was wigging out. My brothers looked at me with a whole new level of confusion. Granted, I was sitting there all red-faced with my mouth open real wide forcing as much air out of my lungs as possible in a vain attempt to make some sound. Any sound. Even just a squeak. But all my effort was for nothing because the only sound was air.

At this point, my brain was moving so fast, I don't think I even processed half the stuff that was _supposed_ to be coming out of my mouth- but one thing was for sure. I was talking and my brothers weren't hearing a thing. I know it wasn't the other way around, because I could hear Leo telling me to calm down. I could hear Don answering Leo's questions. I could hear Raph yelling at me to _"Just quit with the charades and take this seriously, already!"_ Really, the one thing I couldn't hear was...was... no way in _shell_. _Did I just break my voice?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Comment!


	3. Chapter 3

_This has to be a bad dream, right? I used to get fever dreams all the time when I was sick as a kid. I thought I grew out of them, though. What goes around comes around again, right? I don't remember having such a hard time breathing during them, though. Huh. Fever dream... they were always super realistic. And I saw Abe and Chuck during my coughing fit. So,maybe I knocked myself out and now I'm having this nightmare. Yeah. That could potentially make sense..._

"Mikey! Michelangelo, calm down!- what's going on, Don?"

_Leo? Good question there bro, I would ask myself but I'm sort of...at a loss for words, heh._

"I think he's hyperventilating."

 _Hyperventilating_ _?_ _Well...that's always another option. I'll pin that next to fever dreams. Although, I'm pretty sure I'm awake right now. My dreams have never been this realistic before. Somehow you could always tell they were at least a little fake. If not in the moment then afterwards._

"Hyperventi-! Don! What do we do?"

_Denial. I am SO in denial right now! There's no way a simple cough could have destroyed my voice! I mean, c'mon! I know my voice was botched before but it was just a coughing fit. I've had so many of those the past couple days. I... shell. I really lost my voice. But that's temporary...right? I wish I could ask Don- OH WAIT._

"We need to calm him down-"

_If I had any breath right now, I would have snorted loud and proud. Calm me down? After I just found out my new life calling is being a mime? Yeah, good luck with that. I always preferred stand up comedy. Preferences and all that, y'know?_

_A band of blue caught Mike’s attention as Leonardo gave exaggerated breaths._

_”He’s not paying attention!”_

Donny quickly took charge of the situation by dumping a mysteriously acquired cup of ice-cold water upon the panicking turtle's face. "This is the first time he's had an attack like this in a while, so there's not much we can do since we don't have any of the needed resources or equipment."

"Equipment? Don-?"

"Relax, by equipment I meant his inhaler. Nothing drastic. Besides, I can’t tell if its a panic attack or something entirely different." Don replied in full doctor mode, kneeling beside Mikey as he rubbed comforting circles on his shell.

 _...And suddenly I'm sopping wet. What the shell was that for, exactly?! Whatever it was, it worked._ Michelangelo thought as his mind began to clear and his breath came easier with each greedy gulp.

Eventually, Mike was reduced to a small hiccup. Once his breathing was mostly-normal, Raph began to grow restless for answers to his questions. "Damn, what the shell was that? Hey, ya alright there, Mikey?" Don and Leo looked intently at Michelangelo, each equally curious.

_Well this will be entertaining._

With his brothers' undivided attention, Mike finally wiped the water from his eyes happily accepting the hand towel Leo offered the dripping turtle.

 _Okay, deep breath._ His breathe hitched. _Maybe I can do this now._

Opening his mouth, Mike attempted an answer only to be met with the same results as before.

_That's so not cool._

Clearing his throat with confidence, Mike tried again. _Nothing._ Water didn't help. Clearing away any throat gunk didn't help. Screaming didn't help. Nothing seemed to work. Not even a hushed whisper escaped his throat _. Here I am with no voice and life doesn't have the decency to provide a a magical sign that appears with my thoughts written upon it. Wiley gets one but apparently I, Michelangelo, am not worthy of such an honor. Damn mammals._

This time it was Don who asked, doctor mode on full power, "Mike, I need you to tell me what's wrong, okay?"

 _I hate it when Don uses that voice on me. I'm not dumb, I know the situation, alright? Is it too late to blame Klunk? Apparently cats have a tendency to steal tongues or whatever._ With a nod of his head, Mike looked around at his three brothers. Each wore their worry on their faces as they anticipated Mike's response. _Where's that quadruplet telepathy when ya need it?_

"Can you hear us, alright, Mikey? Don, can he hear us?" Leo assumed after seeing my confused stare. Which, of course, resulted in Raphael's sarcastic, "He's not deaf, numb-nuts. You're not deaf, right Mikey? See he shook his head no, just let him-"

"Raph, you're not helping. I was just suggesting a possibility and-"

Suddenly frustrated, Mike clapped his hands to silence his brothers before an argument arose. Once again holding his brother's undivided attention, Mike pointed to his throat with a shrug of his shoulders, his lips mouthing the words he wished he could speak. _  
_

_If their confused expressions are anything to go by, they still don't get it._ Mike mentally griped.

Pointing to his left eye then shaking his head emphatically and making a makeshift puppet mouth out of his hand, Michelangelo mouthed to his older brothers, locking eyes in a desperate attempt for them to understand. _Well, there goes my theory of Leo having Jedi mind-reading powers._ Several gestures later, Raphael finally understood. With a deep chuckle, Raph declared, "I don't believe it! Guys, he lost his voice!"

"Impossible," Don countered ignoring Michelangelo's rapid head nods, "People don't just lose their voice, Raph. I mean, they can, but they'd have to be constantly ill...all...the...time. Shell, Mikey, you mean you really can't say a word?"

Mikey immediately shook his head with a curt nod, motioning a cross over where his heart would be then holding his right hand up mimicking that of a boy scout. What followed this discovery wasn't exactly shocking as Leo, Raph and Don burst out in uncontrollable laughter each brother sharing cheesy one-liners at their little brother's expense.

Frustrated and more than a little embarrassed, Mike made to leave the room. However, one step was all he took before dots swam around his vision, the sudden movement giving the orange-banded turtle an all too familiar sensation of flight. Strong hands caught him just in time, the laughter silencing just as abruptly.

 _"_ Mikey!"Leo and Don chorused, each staring intently at the limp form in Raph's arms.

"I think it's the illness making him do that." Don said, breaking the tense silence.

Finally shaking off his initial shock of the situation, Raph piped up, saying, "Is he gonna be alright, Don?"

"Yeah, of course, as long as he takes things slow. Dangit, I should have realized this was affecting his respiration!  And he's probably dehydrated... Standing up too fast just sort of knocked him out, I guess. "

Whatever comfort Leonardo gave Donatello was lost in the scuffle as Raph adjusted a woozy Michelangelo.

A strained cough protest found Raph’s worried eyes locking with Don's ( newly determined) and ever-calculating gaze.

"Take him to my lab. I'll need to test some things, anyways."

"Don?" Leo called after Raph had left the room, "How serious do you think this is?"

Silence penetrated the kitchen as Don weighed Leo's actual intentions. "I don't know, Leo. It's probably just a nasty illness. He's had worse and you know it. I don't think it's anything we can't handle."

“Don?”

”Hm?”

”You’re doing great. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

Donatello nodded his head in humble defeat before following his brothers into his lab, Leo trailing close behind.

By the time the latter two turtles entered the lab, Mike was already coming to a more significant awareness. Raph coaxing him with practiced ease.

 _"_ Welcome to the land of the living, Mikey." Don said, immediately checking the orange-clad turtle's temperature, "And it looks like you're gonna make it, after all. Fever finally broke. How do ya feel?" He asked, doing his best to sound casual. Being the medic of the family, Donatello had learned how his brothers would behave in the makeshift infirmary.

For instance, Leonardo would never admit to pain. Raph was the same, only, where Leo would try to cover it up by worrying about everyone else or taking a self-inflicted guilt trip, Raph would cover it up by being an asshole.

As for Mikey, he hated the infirmary with an impressive passion. Seeing as how he spent so much time inside, Don understood how the he grew to hate the negative attention. Where Leo needed privacy and a guilt trip to suepass his own protectiveness and Raph needed all three brothers to call him out; Mickelangelo recquired a quick and casual diagnosis. The more relaxed the better. It gave Mike a sense of normalcy. Ever since Don could remember, Mike always took change of any sort the hardest, and though he could handle it better as the years went on, it couldn't hurt to ease him in. If nothing else it would keep him calm.

Mike opened his mouth to reply then quickly snapped it shut, settling for a sideways thumb.

"Uhuh..." Don commented shoving some ibuprofen into Mike's hand, a glass in the other. "This ought to help your head for now."

 _If I was embarrassed before, I'm mortified now. Passingbout like that? C’mon!_ I downed the pills and water- _happily might I add._ Something out of the corner of my eye stood out to me but when I turned it was just Raphael _...s_ _taring at me, like he was trying to read me or something all the while having this stupid smirk on his face. Irritated, I stared back. I could practically hear the old western music playing as we continued our standoff. Only one will win. And, admittedly, Raph had the better ammo this round. I mean, my voice_ is _one of my greatest weapons, after all. Not that I couldn't beat him without it, but why pull at a door marked push, right?_

Walking between the two warring brothers, Don began to explain, "Laryngitis. That has to be it. It... it would explain your..." Don paused, searching for the right words to say, "...spontaneous verbal vocalization deficiency or in medical terminology, your suddenly developed aphonia."

_Did I detect some amusement in there? Aw, c'mon. I mean, I know I'm not the perfect patient and all, but sheesh._

"I'm sorry Mikey, it's just the irony of the whole thing. You have to admit, it's funny..." Don consoled, pausing to try and bite down on his laughter.

_And apparently I really am as easy to read as an open book..._

Finally gaining control over his laughter- though it did have a neevous edge to it-Don continued his explanation, "Laryngitis has a possible chance to occur when one has been sick for quite some time, especially when the illness is in your chest like it has been." Don explained, locking eyes with Mikey. "I'm willing to guess that the humidity, must and generally drafty nature of our humble abode paired with the never-ending coughing fits from your particular grade of perpetual chatter lead to you contracting a rather harsh inflammation within your larynx. Which is also because of an overuse of your vocal chords when it was already causing too much strain. The results, of which caused you to, well, lose your voice entirely. Of course, this is _probably_ only temporary."

_Probably?! How long is this gonna last, Don?!_

"Okay, so how long do you think this will last?"

_I’ll tally that as 2:1 on the Jedi? In my Leonardo? Board..._

"I think the real question here is how long will Mikey last. I mean, just look at him! He's about to blow a gasket already!"

"Voice-wise" Don said, giving a half-hearted glare towards Raph, "...Well, it depends on whether Michelangelo's case is acute or chronic."

Leo nodded his head as he absorbed the information.

"And, before you ask, no. There is no quick fix. Unless Mikey's health takes a downward spiral, medications and rest is really the only treatment but even that is simply for the laryngitis. His aphonia is likely to be less forgiving."

An awkward silence invaded the room as Mikey shifted uncomfortably in the old cot. It was really the only thing besides the scattered medical supplies, that doubled Don's lab as an infirmary.

Leo and Raph, understanding their presence was no longer helpful for the time-being, hastily retreated from the suddenly sullen room.

With a quick swig of his cold coffee, Don began compiling all the necessary supplies to further diagnose Michelangelo. He was almost done setting up the swabs when a timid knock on the wall garnered his attention.

"Yeah, Mike? Are you feeling alright?"

Mike gave a small nod, sitting himself in Don's swivel chair before he could claim it for himself where he spun around once only to stop with a pointed stare at his older brother. Opening his mouth, Mike paused, his expression turning sour as he contemplated his means of communication. _Might as well try lip-reading._ So with a sense of confidence, Mike slowly mouthed his thoughts. And then again. And again. And apparently, had the turtles been human, Don would never understand anything people said across a classroom. He could read anything and everything but lips.

"What are you trying to say, exactly?"

With an overly exaggerated shrug, Mike threw his hands up releasing a frustrated sigh in the process.

"Oh. Are you confused? Like, about the test?"

Suddenly perking up at the spot on guess, Mike placed his finger to where his nose would be, a giant grin nearly splitting his face in two while nodding his head in the universal sign of ' _yes_ '.

"Want me to start from the top? You have laryngitis. More than likely, you’ve strained your vocal chords, which is one of the main causes of laryngitis- strained vocal chords and coughing. Teo things that coincide with eachother. Then, the mixture of your sickness and shock made you... well. You hyperventilated. Twice. But difficulty breathing is also a common sideffect to laryngitis especially in someone predisposed to respiratory issues likeypurself." Don explained, "All I need to do now is test you to be sure - and hopefully your laryngitis is acute instead of chronic. Acute would mean this will only last a couple of days where as chronic would mean it's a little more severe and can last anywhere from three to four weeks.”

Mike gave a tired blink. 

“Right. You just wanted the test over with, didn’t you?”

A nod.

”Alright, come here.”

Mikey leaned forward, a small sniffle-like wheeze slipping out in the process. Donatello paused his work giving Michelangelo a worried look.

“Let’s figure this thing out, yeah?"

Thirty minutes and a couple medical tests later, Mike and Don were both sitting on the desk waiting for the results.

"So, you can't even whisper?" Don asked curiously.

Mike shook his head no, frustration clear on his face. He paused. Shook his head. Then gave a dosmissive hand gesture.

"Hm... ya sure?" Mike only stared indifferently. "Okay, okay. I believe you. Geez... if looks could kill..."

Mike huffed, placing his hand underneath his chin in the perfect thinking position. "What are you-?" Don's question was interrupted by the snapping of Mike's fingers as he jumped off the small desk, rummaging through his many filing cabinets and drawers.

"Can I help you find something there, Mike?" Don asked fearing for his lab while laced with a morbid curiosity, if not for what he was looking for then for how he would try to explain so without the use of words. A few frightening clanks later provided a small, satisfactory gasp from Mike as he seemed to find what he had been looking for.

As it turns out, it was a spare notepad Don hadn't used yet. Mikey eagerly grabbed a pen from the cluttered desk, writing, **'May I?'**

Don grinned at the sheer excitement he saw in Mikey's eyes, "It's all yours."

**'Yes! :)'**

"So..." Don trailed hesitantly, his voice full of brotherly concern, "How are you handling this, Mikey?"

Mike blinked, his eyes searching the floor as he contemplated a response. With a twirl of the pen, Mike finally scribbled down a reply, lifting the pad up for Don to read:

**'In a word...it sucks. But I'll manage. Thinking of taking up miming.'**

Don snorted at the reply, a smile illuminating both boy's faces.

"I always forget that you're left-handed. It suits you."

Mike smiled at that, slowly marking the paper before passing the pad to Don.

Shooting his brother a curious glance, Don looked down onto the pad, chuckling as he grabbed a pencil from behind him. Planting a big **'X'** in the middle of the grid, Don passed the pad back to Michelangelo.

"You know I always win these things, right? Undefeated champ, right here!" He boasted with a playful shove. The look he received needed no explanation. Mike was up for the challenge.

Thirty minutes later found Don's floor covered in crumpled papers. Mike was furiously scribbling about cheating and evil brothers when a loud chime broke both brothers from their competition.

“I think part one of my results loaded.”

Offering his brother a hand up, Don calmly walked over to his laptop, Mike hovering just about his shoulder.

The sudden stiffness of Donatello's shoulders didn't escape Michelangelo's scrutiny as his brother turned to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Mike. You better hold onto that notepad for a while."


	4. Chapter 4

"...Based on the severity test and his current condition, I'd say the most accurate guess is three weeks minimum. Four weeks max."

The kitchen was silent for a moment as Raph and Leo took in the news. Then, as sudden as the news came, all eyes were on the orange-clad turtle each brother waiting to assess Mike's initial reaction.

Mikey's face stayed frozen leaving his brothers clueless to the panicking dialogue inside his own head.

_Okay Mikey, pressures on now. They're waiting for your response. Why, I have no idea. Actually, they're probably waiting for me to have another panic attack like the last two times... which would be a nice exit right now, but my airways feel very nice, thank you. Probably those meds Don gave me...and right when I need it, too! Great, Raph's laughing now. Okay then, ya wanna play it that way Raphie-boy? I'm game...Man, I gotta stop watching day time television._

With new found determination, _and pizzazz_ , Mikey nodded his head, still unsure as to what was expected of him. Raph finally bit down on his laughter after multiple unapproving looks from Don and Leo, not that he was doing them a favor. No, he just needed them to remain on his side for the month. A second later, Mikey was still nodding his head, albeit more subtly now, but a grin was growing on his face. It started with the slow upward pull of his mouth, steadily climbing it's way up until Mike's cheekiest smile was plastered to his face.

"Mike? You alright there?" Don asked, concern peeking it's way through his voice. A nod of the head and a thumbs up was the response as Mike's smile turned into a pained smirk. "You sure?"

"Don, he's fine! Look, he thinks it's darn funny as well. Right, Mime-y, I mean, Mikey?" Raph mocked, moving so that he was now face to face with Mike, who responded by raising a single eye ridge, frowning at Raph's shark-like smile.

With a grim nod, Leo asked, "Don, are you certain? An entire month is, well, a lot can happen in a month and-"

"Except you seem to be forgetting that this isn't a little illness. It never is anymore! And if I remember correctly, which I _always_ do, Mikey's just prone to more illnesses. His immune system has always been on the shakier side. In fact, it's actually quite amazing that we three aren't as bad as Mikey! Considering our we live in the sewers of New York City and our shared cold-blooded nature. It's not like our childhood was all peaches and roses, either. Honestly, it's a miracle we ever survived those brutal winters before electricity." Don finished with a gesture to Mike, who at this point was scribbling madly on the notepad in front of him, glancing up only when he heard his name.

With a quick frown towards Don, he continued his scribbling trying desperately to finish his thought process before the conversation took another turn. Just as Leo opened his mouth to speak, Mikey threw the pen straight towards him in a rather improvised ' _dibs_ '. Years of practice allowed for Leo to catch the pen mere inches from his beak.

"Nice," The turtle in blue commented dryly, "I'm guessing this is your main form of communication for a month?" Mike nodded an affirmative, hesitating ever so slightly as he tapped the notepad impatiently.

Sighing, Leo grabbed the pad of yellow paper and began to read silently:

**"Rule #1 when conversations aren't 1 on 1 then read OUT LOUD, I'd like to be heard, thank you.**

**Rule #2 don't ignore rule #1"**

"Seriously, Mike?" At Mike's frown Leo read on, bypassing the rules entirely and picking up where they ended. With one quick glance up to his brother's pleading face, Leo continued, "Mikey wants to know when he'll be able to join us on our training runs again."

Ignoring Raph's snort, Mikey looked to Don, his eyes practically begging him to allow him this one freedom. Donny cleared his throat, "Well, its only been about a day since his diagnosis. I'm not sure if I'd be willing to risk it just yet. I'll keep checking up on him and maybe- key word here, Mikey, is _maybe,"_ Donny emphasized before continuing, "then he could _potentially_ join us the week after tomorrow."

Don glanced to Mike, who was practically bouncing in his seat, continuing his innuendo,"and given he'll rest when necessary so his respiratory system remains normal. As in the careful consideration that Laryngitis can - _and already has-_ made breathing an issue, _hm?"_

Mikey nodded his head, stifling a sudden urge to cough up his one remaining lung. Then, in one fluid movement, Mikey had jumped from his seat, snatched the pad and pen from Leo's grasp, and darted into the living room- smacking the back of Raph's head in the process.

"Why you little-!" Raph roared as he sprung after Michelangelo.

" _Raph-!_ "

"Ah, leave him Leo. Mike knew that would happen." Don said as he fixed himself _another_ cup of coffee. Once he had taken a sip, Don sat down at the table looking over the results intently.

"So, what else do you know about Mike's _condition_?" Leo asked slowly, fixing his eyes on Don who looked up enough to make eye contact.

"I _know_ that it really isn't anything to worry about too much. I know I'm verging on anxious. Honestly, the worse case here is Mike has another go at hyperventilating or maybe the actual worse case is his asthma comes back full-force but it was always exercise-induced bronchoconstriction and even that should clear up within a week or two like it normally did... My biggest concern is the obvious torture Raph will be giving Mikey now that he can't squeal." Don replied. Leo always was the mother hen of the four boys but Donatello wasn't terribly far behind. 

"I know, Don, honest. I don't mean to sound so doubtful. I'm sure your assessment is right," Leo trailed off, his gaze landing on the hidden Shoji doors just beyond the bend of the hall, "It's just that after what happened with _Sensei_ -" Leo practically whispered the last part, taking a moment to gather himself before continuing his statement, "I just worry, Don. Whenever _anyone_ gets sick, I worry."

"I know, Leo, so do I." Don said just as quietly.

The two sat in silence for a moment, each thinking back to their father's last weeks until it was broken by Leonardo, his hand landing upon his brother's shoulder. "Donatello, I know being the medic is hard on you. You've said it yourself, you're an engineer, a mechanic-not a doctor. If there's ever a way I could help, please, don't hesitate to ask."

Leo gave his shoulder a small squeeze, "We only have each other. You, me, Raph, and Mike. It's been a hard year for all of us, but don't carry it all on your shoulders, okay? I... I know that never works out so well in the end."

Looking up, Don held Leo's gaze observing how much older he seemed to be. Just five minutes ago they were all the same age and suddenly here stands his brother. Still seventeen, but so weathered.

"Thanks, Leo. Same goes for you. Even the leader could use some counsel every now and again."

A soft laugh huffed from the turtle in blue, "Then it's a deal." With a sympathetic smile, Leo stood, stopping as Donatello fondly added,"It _is_ Mikey, Leo. He always bounces back."

And with that, Leonardo grabbed his tea, heading off for his morning meditation a quiet, "I hope so," trailing after.

* * *

"C'mere shell fer brains!" Raph shouted as he followed Mike into the kitchen. Though Raph hated to admit it, Mikey was the fastest of the four. The fact that he is as sick as he is and can _still_ lead Raph on a wild-goose chase throughout the Lair was evidence to that.

Raph lunged towards Mike, frustration evident by his very facial expression, and just like before Mikey danced out of the way. Then, right as the red-banded hothead was about to grab the energetic turtle, Mike's shell cell rang effectively freezing both turtles mid-step.

_Well that's unfortunate. How, exactly, am I supposed to answer a phone call?_

The ringing continued as Mike glanced to Raph, his eyes imploring for his help. With a nonchalant whistle, Raph slowly backpedaled to the doorway of the room, leaving a particularly frenzied younger brother to his own devices. Remembering his most recent,  _long_ lecture on the importance of answering April's phone calls, Mike flipped his shell cell open with a quiet click. Spotting Raph still smirking in the hall, Michelangelo gave Raph the best kicked puppy face he could muster while holding the phone out.

Raph merely smirked, throwing his hands up and nonchalantly walking further out of the silenced turtle's reach.

_Oookay then. Think fast Mike, she sounds pissed._

Peering in from the doorway, Raph had to hold back a laugh at how helpless Mike looked. His face was utterly priceless. It was the epitome of a gaping fish on a sugar high. His face showed the shock of the predicament where as his body language showed that he was in the middle of an inner battle of sorts.

The muffled sounds of April on the other line was all Mikey could hear as he tried to think of a way to communicate. With an audible sigh, he did the only thing he could do and ran straight to Don's lab. He knew Don hated it when he did that, but he was convinced this was an emergency. The twenty-four-year-old was like a terrifying older sister to the turtles and held a power of authority that was both loving and terrifying.

A mere beginner in her training or not, April was certainly a force to be reckoned with. And currently? Mike would rather not reckon.

Skidding to a sloppy halt, Mike's feet slid a couple extra feet as he missed the doorway to the lab ever-so-slightly. With a quick change of trajectory he ran into the room, bumping into the swivel chair that was sitting idly by. This got Don's attention, to say the least, as it rolled it's way into some rather fragile boxes filled with spare parts resulting in a loud crash.

"Mikey! Dammit, I've told you not to- _what are you doing?"_

Mike interrupted Don by flailing his arms before shoving the small communicative device into the Brainiac's hand.

"It's the shell cell, Mikey." The younger turtle face palmed, sighing loudly. Seeing that his immediate older brother was clueless yet again, he stuck his two fingers out mimicking a phone.

"Call someone?" Don guessed. He never was very good at charades. However, considering the way Michelangelo just stopped fidgeting entirely and stared at him, Don assumed his guess was incorrect. Looking down told him how, as he could see the on-call screen blinked blearily up at him...and then it clicked.

"Oh! _Oh_..." Don said sheepishly.

_Finally! Bro, if I'm gonna spend a month like this, you're gonna have to learn to play Guestures...Who would'a thunk. Our resident genius my shell._

_"Erm, uh, hey April. Oh, yeah, we're all fine. Mike just, sort of..."_

With his adrenaline still pulsing through his veins, Mike entertained his fidgety hands by fiddling with the random trinkets and thingamajigs sprawled around Don's desk, only half-listening to their conversation. _After all, she did call for me- not Don._

"Oh no, you called Mike. No. Well he..."

_Here goes..._

"...contracted a rather severe case of laryngitis..."

_Cue a motherly freak-out session._

"No, no. It's alright April, he's fine. Well. Mostly, he developed a type of aphonia... Well, think less psychological and more like a result of his perpetual illnesses and predisposition to... yes, I gave him antibiotics for the viral end of the illness. There's really nothing I can do for the inflammation at the moment... An old family recipe, huh?"

_And as long as I'll be forced to down yet another one of Aprils family's poisons- I mean remedies- I'd rather not know the ingredients. What's so wrong with a couple Tylenol and cinnamon tea?_

With a casual salute to Don signaling his departure, Mike left for the currently uninhabited living room. The run had left him a bit more winded than he'd like and suppressing his wheezes in Don's lab didn't do him any justice. After flipping through the channels enough times to figure out nothing was on, Mike turned the television off. Reaching for his notepad and pen, which until recently, had been sprawled out on the floor from his previous altercation with Raph.

 _Ah, boredom. My old friend._ With a tired sigh, Mike allowed his mind to travel randomly, his thoughts drifting off as he absently twirled his pen.

_Silence. It carries a mystery many have yet to discover. There's a heaviness about it. A power. It's rare use creates a raw potential. The over-use of such an ability strikes fear into the hearts of even the bravest of men. Lonely. Desolate. Dark. Cold. Mad. Maybe that's why sound has penetrated every thought within society these days- to avoid the silence. I mean, it's silence which begs questions too difficult to answer. It' draws you in. Makes you doubt. Makes you think. Maybe that's why Don and Leo wish for it all the time. They're so serious, it sort of suits them. The mystery. Though, I'm not sure how mysterious they could be to me. I mean, we grew up together. There's not a whole lot of mystery when you know someone's entire life story. Yet... what if? Silence is a mystery but it's often brushed aside as simple. Maybe it's silent for a reason. Maybe silence has something to hide. Maybe it doesn't want to hide at all. What if silence wants to speak and to answer and it tries, simply incapable of answering. Unable. Silenced. Or what if it chose to be silent, a somber vow, of sorts._

_Guess I'll have to get used to it either way._

* * *

"Mikey, April said she'd be happy to pick up s-oh," Don paused upon seeing the young turtle sound asleep on the couch. A small smirk adorned his face as he grabbed one of their spare blankets tossing it over the slumbering turtle. Then, as quietly as possible he disappeared back into his lab.

It was about time Mike got some actual rest.


	5. Please comment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. You guys are killing me.

Mike awoke with a rather strange confusion. _I swear, my eyes were only shut for a minute. What decade is it, now? I feel like I'm waking up from the dead._

As the sick turtle went to sit up, there was a loud clang followed by what sounded like a muffled remark. _Great, my bros must be trying to cook again._ With a good stretch, Michelangelo snuck his way over towards the kitchen. 

Don was sitting at the table, his liquid life in hand, while Leo rescued slightly smoking bread from the confines of the toaster. Catching sight of the clock, Mike noticed it was already past noon. _What the- how the shell did I manage a mini coma like that?!_ With how late it was already, Mike figured food was his biggest concern. _I didn't even hear them leave for patrol last night! Who sleeps for that long, anyhow?_

"Shh guys! I want Mike to sleep for a little longer, he really shouldn't even be training just yet."

"Then why'd ya tell him he could Don?"

"Raph, you of all people should know that a sick and unhappy Mikey is ten times worse than when he's just unhappy."

_And what is THAT supposed to mean?_

"Well tough. Just say no. If he feels left out he can sit there and watch."

"That's plan B, Raph. For now, I'm just hoping he'll oversleep."

_Nice to know I'm in the loop. And trusted, for that matter._

This seemed to grasp Leonardo's attention, "I don't know Don. He seemed pretty excited yesterday. He might not take no for an answer."

_I knew I admired you for a reason, Leo!_

"Yeah, he's just about as stubborn as you sometimes, fearless."

Rolling his eyes, Leo placed the charred remains of food on the table, earning looks of disgust from both turtles already seated at the table.

_Look who's talking, Raphael. Wait- stubborn? I'm not stubborn! Am I?_

With an irritated look, Leo sat down, "You're one to talk, Raph. I just don't think getting his hopes up will help anyone. If you don't think he's ready to train, we can wait another day. I don't want to take any risks."

_Risks? How many risks can there be? It's a spar!_

Unfortunately for Michelangelo, he'd been projecting his emotions into physical gestures. And said gestures resulted in drawing the attention of three highly trained ninja warriors. 

"Oh hey Mike. Why are you standing in the doorway?"

At the sudden calling of his name, the orange clad ninja jumped, knocking over Klunk's water bowl and losing his balance in the process, which in turn sent him flailing backwards onto the floor covered in a vague mixture of water and soggy cat food.

_Well today's starting off rather swell._

_"_ Geez, Mikey. Freak out much?" Don quipped while he and Leo helped the frazzled turtle to his feet. Shooting Don a sheepish look of annoyance, the younger turtle stomped to the fridge grabbing the milk.

"He's just mad 'cuz it ain't just his voice that makes him the loudest ninja ever." Raph teased, dodging the handful of cereal thrown towards his head.

"You're cleaning that up, Mike." Leo reprimanded as they all sat down once again.

Handing Mikey his notepad, Don asked, "So, Mike, how do you feel?"

Not bothering to use paper, Mike gave Don a thumbs up.

Irritated by his brother's pouting, Don sighed, "I need specifics, Mike."

Sighing as well, Michelangelo grabbed the pen and wrote : **Specifically? I have plenty of energy- not a single lingering ache. My head feels clearer and my breath hasn't hitched for two whole days. I feel fine. So why can't I practice?**

"Mike, you've been pretty sick. You can't just jump right in, you know that."

**"Don, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm sort of sick a lot. I think I can handle a little sparring."**

"You've never had laryngitis,before, Mike. It effects your respiration and I don't want to risk you having another go at hyperventilating because of something as _unnecessary_ as training."

Mike huffed, crossed his arms, and glared at Don..

"Don't give me that look, _Michelangelo_." Mike's glare faltered for a minute.

_It's kind of all I have right now, Don-A-tello. I acknowledge your use of my full name and raise you my best glare._

As Don and Mike continued to bore holes in the other's face, Raph and Leo shifted uncomfortably in their seat. It wasn't often when Mikey and Don would bump heads and though this showdown wasn't nearly as bad as it could be, it still made the two fear for their safety should they find themselves caught in the cross hairs. They'll never forget the battle of 2011.

"One more day Mike. And I'll let you go on our training run tomorrow, deal?" Don said through clenched teeth.

Mike's face instantly lit up as his smile neared one hundred watt, nodding his approval and reaching out his hand to seal the deal. Hesitantly, Don stuck out his hand before adding, "And you'll actually take it easy today and rest. Deal?" With a small, albeit disappointed, nod Mike agreed to his brother's ultimatum.

Raph and Leo exchanged looks while their two youngest brothers shook hands. And with that, the three healthy turtles went to the dojo to begin their training leaving Mike to fend for himself, a mischievous smirk slowly forming upon his face.

* * *

 _Okay, so first thing's first. Raph seems to think I'll be certifiably insane by the end of the day? And he insulted my stealth? Oh no, bro. This sickness ain't gonna be for the benefit of you only. Raphie-boy, I'm gonna get one step ahead of you in this and you'll get_ all  _the blame. After all, how do you plan on weaseling a confession from me when I'm helplessly mute?_

* * *

"MIKEY!"

_Phase one, complete. Battle stations._

Storming into the living room, spoiled milk dripping from his face, Raph was nearly three feet from a previously snoozing Michelangelo. With an inaudible eep, Mikey quickly covered his face in a pillow. _Five. Four. Three. Two._

"Raph! What are you-" Donatello stopped short upon entering the room. _Right on time._ Plugging his beak Don asked, "Ugh! What is that?!"

"What do ya think, genius?! It's rotten milk! The little twerp rigged it ta fall on me while I was lifting weights!"

"Gah! That smells awful, Raph! Go take a shower or something!"

"No, that's it! The little knucklehead has been doin' this all day! Little shadows have been dartin' past me all day and I'm sick of it! I'm gonna teach this shell-head a thing or two first!"

"Raph, Mike's been in here asleep all day and how would he even have rotten milk? Last I checked, ours is still good."

"Don! Its _Mike_ we're talking 'bout here! He probably had it stashed some away to rot fer months on end! You could probably just look under his bed and find five of them sittin' right there, you've seen his room!"

 _I resent that! Even if you_ are _half right..._

"Raph, in case you didn't already know, I've been checking up on him all day. He hasn't so much as _moved_ without me knowing."

"We _are_ ninja, Don. Its not like he couldn't have snuck away or somethin'!"

"Yeah, Mike definitely demonstrated his stealth this morning, eh, Raph? No offense Mikey."

_Totally took offense, dude._

"Yeah, well..." For once, Raph was without an argument. If Don really had been keeping such a close eye on Mike, which they all were, then there really was no time for him to have done this. From their point of view, Mike has been sitting here sleeping and playing video games all day. But Raph _knew_ this had Mike's name written all over it and he'd figure out how soon enough. If he's gonna play it that way, then he's just gonna have to stay one step ahead.

"Exactly. You leave glasses out all the time, Raph. Who's to say you didn't set that glass there only to forget about it until today?" Don said, ending the argument right then and there.

With an annoyed growl, Raph turned to walk away but not before he caught a glimpse of the youngest's mischievous smile. Whipping around, Raph saw Don was walking towards the coffee table that held all of Mike's supplies on the other side of the couch- back turned to Mike, who took this opportunity to stick his tongue out at the hothead.

"Ya see! See that Don, the little twerp _DID_ do it!"

Turning around, Don looked to Mike who was now laying down, looking to him with a face of indifference. "Raph- shower. That milk is going to your head." Don said, turning back to what he was doing.

Raph narrowed his eyes at the young turtle who was now sitting up, smirking at his red banded brother, Raph made a fist with his hand and pointed it at the younger turtle before stomping off to the bathroom.

* * *

"Hurry up, Einstein! We don't have all night!" Raph yelled from where he stood at the entrance of the lair.

"Patience, Raph! Leo's not even out yet!"

"Actually Don, I am." Leo said as he walked up next to Raph, "Is he still checking on Mikey?"

"Yeah, I'd pity the poor doofus if it weren't for him messin' with me all day."

"You've keep saying that, Raph, but I didn't notice him leave that couch even once." Leo said exasperated.

"Whatever, let's just go." Raph growled, temper flaring at how his brother had outsmarted him.

"Okay, Mike. I want you to get some rest, alright? And if you get hungry, keep it light. If you have any hopes for joining us tomorrow you'll follow these to a 'T', got it?" Don said in full doctor mode.

Nodding his head, Mike waved goodbye to his brothers.

_Great. Now I'm bored. Now what?_


	6. Chapter 6

Patrol was short and, so far, uneventful. Sure, there were still the usual muggings and robberies to terminate, yet, for the most part, all seemed to be eerily silent. Each brother feeling the emptiness without their spastic orange-banded younger brother.

Bored and more than a little unfocused, the three brothers paused to collect their bearings and simply hang out, as per usual for nights such as this one.

"Don, are you really gonna let Mikey train tomorrow?"

Looking out into the distance, Don sighed, "Yeah. I sort of have to now, and I would have today its just that..." Don trailed off. Turning to his two brothers, the purple-clad turtle continued, "Look. I'm still not a hundred percent sure yet, but I'm beginning to think this is more than just laryngitis. It made sense at first, because of how often Mikey talks- especially when sick. Not to mention his voice always _has_ had a rasp to it. His throat was already irritated so, logically, it could have been further irritated to a point of voice loss caused by his coughing. Problem is, I don't quite understand his hyperventilating..."

Raph and Leo waited for Don to continue, but seeing as how the bo-wielder seemed to be lost in his thoughts, Leonardo quirked an eye ridge and prompted, "I thought you said it was a common symptom with laryngitis."

"It is, but usually for young children, not teen aged. Even the added factor of living in dank and musty sewers shouldn't be enough to cause Mike to have lost his voice so completely- though it surely won't help any when it comes to the healing process..."

"So what are ya sayin', egghead?" Raph said, his protective nature as an older brother taking over.

Donatello inhaled in an attempt to not only calm his growing frustration but to collect the scattered thoughts floating about his head. After a few calming breathes, Don explained,"Do you guys remember when we were kids, how Mike used to have trouble breathing?"

"Yeah, I thought Master Splinter had him do breathing exercises for months so he could learn to control it or suppress it and whatnot."

"Exactly, but that's the thing. Splinter thought they were sideffects to his below-average immune system. To be fair, that is how it appeared..." Don broke eye contact, his words trailing off as he thought over his conclusion.

Of course, Raph, never a huge fan of cliff hangers, threw his hands up in the air, letting out a frustrated growl. "Why doe's he always trail off like that?!" Raph vented as he stared at Leonardo who sent him a warning look, his gaze refocusing on Donatello.

"You can tell us, Don." Leo encouraged, his voice soft with comfort.

With a sigh, Don continued, "It's just...I said he developed an aphonia and I meant it, only I'm fairly certain laryngitis isn't the main cause. It's more like a catalyst to the main problem. I think Mike always had a weak immune system, something wrought in his very genetics. Something inevitable and unstoppable. But, I think what causes it to continue to this very day is a lack of treating the a large cause."

"Well yeah, Donny, the little twerp always has _somethin'_ wrong with 'im- what's you're point, exactly?"

"Asthma. I mean, it's so obvious, isn't it? He's always had asthma.I don't think it ever left. I mean, its not uncommon for people with asthma to have a stage in their life where its somewhat...dormant. And even then, it still seemed to effect him. We just never noticed because we weren't really looking for it."

"What do you mean? When has it effected him, Don?" Leo asked, his worry growing at the mention of overlooking something so important.

"Mainly small things. Little details we overlooked at the time but once I started thinking back to it, they began to stick out. A lot of times it would be when he got real excited or scared. For the most part, he would get himself under control, a mixture of all the breathing exercises and the physical training we partake in making it a mere annoyance. He noticed and didn't say anything because he's Mikey and, well, he's not a fan of anything illness related, though you can't really blame him. After all, both seemingly go hand-in-hand as far as severity is concerned."

Don leaned up against the ledge of the rooftop, staring at his brothers as if the mere observance could help him gauge what they were thinking. Finally, after several minutes of silence, Raph spoke,"So, yer sayin' Mike got laryngitis 'cuz of his asthma?"

"Well it's certainly a part of it. The fact that Mike is so frequently ill is an issue in itself. It's had an obvious effect in how he's not only the shortest and leanest of us all, but also in how, er, _hyper-active_ he can be. Based on the patterns of his illnesses, he usually has a few mild sicknesses that lead to one bigger illness, which, though still not life-threatening- are of a fairly severe case. Whether the attack on his respiratory system is what triggered the asthma or the other way around, I'm not sure. Like I said, they sort of go hand-in-hand."

"Would it be safe for Mikey to train with us tomorrow?"

Don hummed as he measured his thoughts once again, "As long as we go easy and don't stray too far from our home just in case. Really, he _should_ be fine. I'm just not sure how severe his asthma is right now. Asking him would be a moot point. We'll just have to keep a close eye on him. If nothing else, it will help me to determine the severity of his respiration."

"I jus' find it hard ta believe. I mean, c'mon, Mike's always been the fastest! Give him an open area and the bonehead could run fer days without stopping!"

"As long as he's not sick and his breathing remains controlled, it doesn't appear effect him too much," Don shrugged, "Scientifically, however, well, I'd have to do tests rather than merely observing."

Quirking an eye ridge, Leo asked, "How long have you had this theory, Don? Have you even talked to Mikey about this?"

The brainiac visibly tensed. He knew Leo wouldn't approve of Don's lack communication with his younger counterpart. After taking a breath, Don rubbed his face and mumbled, " _Quite some time._ And as for the second question, no."

With a mighty sigh, Leo stepped forward placing a hand on Don's shoulder, "Look, we all know how Mikey gets with this kind of stuff, but, I think you should discuss this asthma issue with him. If what you say you've observed is true, then he's probably expecting it to come up, anyway."

"And it will only help, I know, Leo. I just don't want to overwhelm him."

The statement hung in the air for a moment as an uneasy feeling grew within his stomach, Don decided to change the topic before an argument began, "Let's head home. I don't want to be out so long while Mikey's sick."

Nodding in agreement, the three brothers made their way back home, each ignoring the odd sense of trepidation, focusing, instead, on their younger brother.

* * *

Among the shadows, a ninja shifted in anticipation. _Mistress Karai will be pleased._

Karai had been so busy with the fraudulent business of her fathers to hunt down her most hated enemies. Consequently, the mystics and the few ninja skilled enough had been ordered, however temporarily, to keep an eye on the turtles _._

And, as luck would have it- there they were.

_**"As long as we go easy and don't stray too far from our home just in case. Really, he should be fine. I'm just not sure how severe his asthma is right now. Asking him would be a moot point. We'll just have to keep a close eye on him. If nothing else, it will help me to determine the severity of his respiration."** _

_hmm..._

With a signal of recession, the ninja left their spots mere seconds before the turtles ran by.

Signalling for the rest of the ninja to retreat, the evanescent leader stealthily stalked the turtles before they dropped down into the sewers below. Taking note of his surroundings, the foot froze as the turtle in blue looked directly where he had been mere seconds ago, his eyes trailing towards his invisible form.

"Leo! Would ya quit bein' so dang paranoid?!"

Suppressing a sigh of relief, the transient foot watched as his enemy nodded his head and disappeared into the manhole.

_Finally. A weakness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boring filler but a plot is emerging, oh dear!


	7. Chapter 7

"Mikey, calm down- you're gonna attract unnecessary attention." Leo attempted to scold, though he wasn't exactly being successful.

 _I can totally tell you're enjoying this, too, Leo,_ Mikey thought as he flashed his oldest brother a grin, mid back handspring.

_I've been containing myself all day long, if you even think I'm gonna be calm now then, dude, we really need some brother-bonding time because you obviously don't know me as well as you think._

The four turtles were nearing the first hour of their patrol and had only broken up one simple mugging. Needless to say, they were all getting bored.

  
"But seriously, Mike, if you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable- take a break, for my sake, okay?"

  
_Crystal, dude. Seriously, calm yourself down. I'm fiiiine... well, minus the whole mute-ant turtle thing...man, I'm losing my touch._

With a quick head nod and a small glance at his brainiac of a brother, Mike dismissively waved his hand choosing to look out at the skyline for a moment, his characteristic grin nearly splitting his face in two.

There was a muffled crunch of an old and withered leaf. An instant alertness surrounded the rooftop as the quick bat of an eye left all four turtles surrounded by the Foot.

_Aw shell, not these guys! Though I suppose that explains why things have been so calm all night..._

Raph barely had the time to begin an "Aw sh-" at their presence. A quarter of a second for four against plentiful. A small glare at-best. And then suddenly, swiftly and with the slightest of motions what was a stand still became a tempest.

Mike let out a sharp breath as the entire fleet ran towards him.

And Mike, the instinct-driven terrapin that he is, ran as well.  
_Okay, okay, chill. They're probably only attacking you because they, I don't know, WHY ARE THEY ONLY ATTACKING ME!?_

And there it was. That tightening of his lungs, the constricting in his throat- his vision began to tunnel and- _No, Mikey, not right now. We are NOT having an attack right..._ gasp _...now._

There was a hit to his plastron, further winding the sickly turtle followed almost immediately by a smack to the head and suddenly Michelangelo was on his shell dodging the powerful swinging of a katana, the whoosh of air much to slow thanks to the extreme amount of adrenaline pulsing through the recently muted turtle.

 _Learned this move from the Matrix,_ he thought as he pushed off with both legs, twisting his body upright while falling into a makeshift handstand. The Foot dropped back into a fighting stance as Mike grinned mischievously, catching his breath at the same time. _Thanks for the distraction, dude._ His previously locked elbows hunched, waiting for just the right moment.

_Any second now, big guy..._

Noticing the shift of weight in the ninja's stance, Mike pushed off his hands as hard as he could, leaning forward as far as possible with an- _alli-oop-_ POW! The orange-clad turtle chuckled his airy chuckle as three ninja toppled to the ground- having been whacked on the back of their heads when the turtle of their previous vigil flipped over and behind them.

With a slight break in the ambush, Mike looked to see Leo and Don shell to shell efficiently taking down the outside circle of foot ninja far off to the right. A grunt and eventual thud alerted Michelangelo to the presence of Raph a couple feet to his left. Turning around quickly, Mike saw more than half of the Foot heading straight towards him. _Great_ , Mike moaned internally. _I haven't exactly got all my strength back, so fighting them hand-to-hand, or even weapon-to-weapon, is not exactly a good idea. I'll be down five times quicker than usual._ A quick glance to his brothers on either side- each with an overwhelming amount of foot to fend off and Mike had made his decision.

_Run. Like, really run this time._

_Man, I hope this works..._ Mike thought as he leaped onto the second roof so far, deciding to risk a look behind, an odd combination of relief and fear swam through him upon seeing at least half the group following closely behind him. _Where to? Where to? Oh shell!_ _Okay, so its not the destination that counts, its the journey, am I right? So just tire them out and then it doesn't matter where I lead them... so long as its away from my bros. Besides, sick or no, I'm fast enough they can't catch me... yeah, keep telling yourself that, Mike._

Each step made his lungs burn but Mike was determined to keep going- a half thought-out trajectory that lead him in a loop. Hopefully his brothers got a reprieve and hopefully his eventual return would be met with Mikey catching his breath and his brothers knocking the foot that follow all the way out. 

He had only been running for ten minutes when a dark figure suddenly landed in front of his path, forcing the turtle to come to an abrupt halt.

"Michelangelo. It's been quite some time, hasn't it?"

_Karai._

Eyes widening in surprise, Mike finally realized his mistake. He hadn't been running away at all- just running straight into a trap- and he even brought the backup.

_Smooth move, Mikester. You really screwed yourself this time._

_"Aw,_ there, there Michelangelo. Don't be too hard on yourself. You are sick, after all. I'm sure it was simply a clouded mind due to a fever, perhaps?"

Mike opened his mouth to respond in typical Michelangelo fashion, snapping it shut with an audible click at the amused look Karai expressed. Fidgeting nervously, Mike hesitantly got into a fighting stance just as the ninja caught up, encircling the turtle.

_No way out. No clear one, at least._

He lifted his hands to where his nunchukus sat in his belt, hovering just above them, fingers twitching as adrenaline fueled his rapid heartbeat.

For every step Karai took, Mikey took one back until he was pinned between a particularly beefy foot ninja and the equally insane Karai, clad in her Shredder costume. An outfit that, despite his best efforts against such a thought, was really quite intimidating.

Mike's mind was on full-speed, thoughts whirring as fast as possible, each one coming up with a different means of escape and all the while his head was screaming a constant mantra of impressive curses.

A small pinch on his left arm thwarted his efforts for grabbing the comfortable wood of his 'chucks.

A slight twisting of his wrists as the buff Foot ninja grabbed his left wrist, the small turtle fighting to the very end. With one chance, Mike took his last a clear hit on Karai, the consequential blow knocking any semblance of oxygen from his lungs.

He fell to his knees with a grunt.

S _ince when am I t-this tired?_ Mike looked up into the dark eyes of his enemy, his vision blurring dangerously.

 _Well that's sort...sort of new.. I think...oh..._ _I'm sorry...bros..._

Just as darkness began to envelope the young turtle, Mike couldn't help reflecting how glad he was that he blacked out before he saw the triumphant sneer on Karai's face.

At least his nightmares won't have that to add to their repertoire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plot emerges? A fight scene is written quite terribly? Let me know what you think (please) :)


End file.
